The Calm
by Redderhead
Summary: Return Fic. What John did during the silent years before Sherlock returned. Return inspired by an image of johnlock found on Tumblr. Rated T for happy ending as always!


_**Ok, One more before my holibags. Enjoy guys and girls. Remember this is fiction, I do not claim to ownership of the wonderful Sherlock Holmes or indeed his lovely counterpart Doctor John Watson, I also only benefit from this as I love to read your love in comments!**_

_**Viva la Johnlock!**_

**The Calm**

It had been 36 long months.

1,080 excruciatingly slow days.

25,920 painful, almost sleepless, hours since the super sleuth, his best friend, Sherlock Holmes jumped from the top of St. Bartholomew's London Hospital.

Not a day went by that the honest, brave and dutiful Army Doctor didn't think about his flatmate. He knew there must have been a 'bigger picture' as it were. He knew that the genius he used to live with would never have done something so ultimately defeatist and pointless without a very good reason.

There were reminders left all over the city of London, reminders that met John Watson every day, i.e. a tall man wearing a long tailored coat running down the street, John had wanted so badly to follow him, but as he watched on; the running man stopped and turned; his face was soft and friendly, his cheeks were rosy and his eyes were dark, he wasn't John's good friend. Many of these small events happened over the course of 3 years, often leaving the doctor feeling as though his entrails were made of lead and his heart turned to stone, it would be fair to say that John missed Sherlock Holmes, but it would be more truthful to say that John was lost without Sherlock Holmes.

It had taken 12 months just to build up the courage to return to 221B Baker Street, and when he did, he broke down in the middle of their preserved and slightly musty smelling living room. Mrs Hudson was there to pick up the pieces of course, but she was not her usual self either.

After a further 4 months, John had applied for a temporary job beside Stamford at St. Barts. From the day he started work he took his lunch to the roof and sat over looking the city from his friends' last post. He didn't tell anyone this until Molly found him there one day.

"There was a reason, John" Molly said gingerly as she sat down beside the doctor.

John looked down toward the road that he had once stood looking up at this very spot in severe distress.

"I know" John murmured, roofing his lunchbox as he felt no longer hungry.

"It will be ok" Molly said quietly, hesitantly reaching out to pat John's back soothingly.

"Did he tell you -?" John asked, leaving his question unfinished.

"Yes" Molly admitted quietly. John's head snapped her direction immediately.

"What did he tell you?" John asked desperately.

"John, it will all come out soon, I promise. But I can't say, not yet." Molly said awkwardly.

"Molly, if you have kept something from me for 3 years…surely…please…_please _tell me" John whispered brokenly, his eyes beginning to sting with the all too familiar feeling of sadness.

"I can't John. Just promise me…promise me you won't do anything stupid" Molly said, indicating the ground below.

John smiled sadly.

"I'll never be as brave as he was" The doctor admitted.

Molly nodded, seemingly happy with his answer. She made her excuses before leaving him alone once more on the rooftop of St. Barts.

It was a year after this that John had started to rid the flat of the old experiments and equipment. Once he had left the Hospital, he had determined the week for cleaning and enlisted the help of his housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, to help him through it. John couldn't bring himself to rid the space of _his _violin and skull; those two items, his furniture and the sleuth's tailored clothes remained, neatly tucked away in the first floor bedroom. For some reason, John made the bed with fresh sheets although he knew he would never let another person sleep there – it helped him, and that was what he needed.

A further 4 months found John sleeping in the first floor bedroom.

He had moved his own furniture in with the detectives', ensuring that everything of Sherlock's was completely untouched and safe at all times.

Another 4 months, and the doctor had cut himself from the outside world. He would avoid food shopping and therefore not eat. He relied on Mycroft's cheques to keep the rent up to date. He slept in Sherlock's bed and hurt every hour of every day.

36 months and 3 days. Sherlock had remained dead, John had remained alone. It had taken a while, but John had come to realise – without the help of his therapist – that this was not normal behaviour. Grief did affect people in different ways, but this was not the grief a man would feel for his best friend. What John was feeling was more like the grief a young widower would feel.

It was with this realisation, that John discovered his locked away feelings for the mad scientist he used to live with. The love of the chase, the love of the battlefield, the adrenaline, the danger…it all came with Sherlock, but it was also what he felt for the detective himself. John Watson loved Sherlock Holmes with every honest fibre in his body; the pain of this epiphany ripped through him. Once again when he realised Sherlock would never know.

It was then, that John began to feel that Molly's fears were justified as the pain filled days continued to only get worse.

One day, as John brought himself to order, he had decided it was time to visit Sherlock's grave and say a final goodbye. Today was the day that either John moved on with his life, or moved on in the euphemism sense of the phrase.

Mrs Hudson hugged John very tightly as he limped towards the front door, she ambushed him from her own flat and had started to shed a tear as he gently patted her back sympathetically.

"I'll see you for dinner, John" Mrs Hudson said firmly as she pulled away and tightened John's tie smartly.

Unable to reply for his overriding feelings of guilt, John simply nodded before pulling away and continuing out the front door and onto the street.

John stood at the foot of Sherlock's grave staring coldly at the golden letters through the heavy rain.

He felt very miserable indeed and would probably get ill from standing in the ice-cold winter rain.

John looked skyward to receive the rain gratefully, 'hurry on the illness' he thought as he opened his mouth and closed his eyes.

The tears were washed away but his eyes were tell tale red as he walked from the graveyard an hour later, his hands buried in his sopping jean pockets, his un-sheltered head bowed against the continuing rain.

Before long, John found himself in the same position he had been on that fateful day; looking up at St Bart's roof sorrowfully.

A car horn woke him from his reverie a moment or two later and he turned to give the cab driver the dirtiest look he could muster before slouching off in the direction of home, unable to bring himself to cause the same pain to their housekeeper that _he_ had done three years prior.

Stopping by a local Tesco express, John stocked up on the essentials, giving the young cashier a weak smile when he noticed the look of obvious interest he was receiving.

"You look a little wet" She stated with a raised eyebrow.

"It's raining outside" John said simply.

"Do you have far to go? Do you want to dry off?" She asked with an underlying teasing smile.

"No thanks" John said flatly, whipping a plastic bag away from the bundle and throwing the items haphazardly into it before paying in cash and hobbling from the shop.

The rain started to ease as John walked slowly back down Baker Street. He saw shadows of other people running in haste to escape the rain, he smiled sadly, he wished he could run again.

It wasn't until he was at his next door neighbours' door that he spotted a figure at his own front door. John stopped dead.

The man was tall, his appearance was rather startlingly poor; with a baggy brown trench coat and loose fitting jeans. His hair was a dark mass of chaos that only rain and wind could've achieved as it sat piled atop his sharp angled head. John's shopping fell to the pavement as he let it go in his stupor. The man turned to look at John and his eyes widened. There was no denying who he was.

Somewhere in the back of the soldiers mind, John vaguely noted that the rain had started once more, heavier than before.

"John" Came a hoarse but low tone from the stranger no further than 3 metres from him.

John collapsed, his knees giving out from under him. He hit the pavement hard, water seeping further through his jeans. Sherlock Holmes ran toward him and landed equally as heavy on his knees in front of the doctor. His long, cold and slender hands found John's face and cupped it firmly.

"John" The voice came again, the face John had dreamed of seeing again just inches from his own.

"John, I know you can hear me, speak to me" Sherlock said hastily, shaking John's face gently from side to side.

"I'm ok – I'm ok" John shouted out numbly, his own voice hoarse and broken sounding in the quiet and wet street.

Sherlock got to his feet and bent down to retrieve the shopping bag, he then offered a hand toward the soldier.

John didn't take it, instead he got to his own feet and walked distractedly around the detective toward the front door, eying him suspiciously. It appeared that Mrs Hudson was out, so John hobbled up the staircase heavily, hearing his old flatmate close the front door behind them and follow suit up the stairs.

Sherlock stood in the doorway to their old living room. He spotted that all of his belongings; with the exceptions of the violin, skull and leather armchair had all been removed. He walked toward the armchair, drilling through the layers of dust with a wet index finger before he turned to face John; his unrecognisable work boots squelching loudly on the wooden flooring.

John put the shopping away slowly and meticulously, once the bag had been wrapped in a ball and put under the sink, John clenched his fists by his sides and looked back at Sherlock, noting the intense stare he was receiving.

After a moment of deafening silence, John decided that if this image of Sherlock wasn't real – which was highly probable – he had better make the most of it while it was here.

"Come with me" John said quietly, turning heel and walking down the short corridor to Sherlock's old bedroom – which was now his.

Sherlock followed wordlessly, his face blank and wandering.

The doctor removed his wet coat and threw it on the floor unceremoniously, signalling for Sherlock to do the same. The detective didn't object, instead, he shed his brown farm coat and wet shirt, throwing them toward John's abandoned coat nearby.

John removed his own shoes, jumper, shirt, jeans and socks before heading toward the double bed. Sherlock watched silently as John slipped between his own old sheets and signalled for the detective to join him. Sherlock hesitantly removed his own jeans and shoes before clambering into the bed also, his wet hair soaking into the pillow case as he lay down.

Without a single noise, except for the rain pattering the window heavily, John slid across the mattress and curled himself around the detective tightly, burying his face in the nook of Sherlock's slender neck. It was a minute or two before the younger man wrapped an arm around the doctor, but when he did, his grip was tight.

For a long time, the two just lay, completely calm and at peace with the world, tangled lightly with each other as they slowly dried off between the warming sheets. So long in fact, that they both fell into an easy sleep.

The following morning was a little awkward to say the least. John woke to find that the last of his clothing had been removed and that a Sherlock sized individual was spooning him tightly. John moved slightly to confirm that his bed mate had also lost his under garments at some point during the night and froze still when he felt a very definite male groin pressed against his skin.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was raspy from sleep and it made John shiver from head to toe.

Sherlock's arms tightened around the doctor as a warm nose pressed against the back of his neck.

"Are you real?" John breathed, looking toward the window with wide eyes, amazed at how solid the man behind him felt.

"Yes, John" Sherlock murmured, his lips against the base of the Doctors' neck.

John turned, wriggling around in the detectives' tight grasp until they were face to face. Sherlock's luminescent eyes widened slightly as his vulnerable area came into contact with an equally susceptible area, but he smiled at John none-the-less, neither seemed to mind.

"Am I dead?" John whispered, his eyes displaying his confusion as they examined Sherlock's closely.

"You are very much alive, John" Sherlock murmured again, his light eyes dancing over the doctor as their noses brushed affectionately.

It was then, that John noticed the hollowed cheeks and dark skin under those beautiful eyes. It was then that he noticed the new cuts and scars across his slender and elegant neck. It was then that he pressed his lips lightly to his flatmates' in a soft kiss.

Sherlock's arms tightened still on the smaller man, their legs tangled together, John's hands twisted into hair as he greedily took what he could get.

Breaking the kiss very suddenly, John moved away and fixed the detective with a resolute stare.

"Where have you been?" John asked, his voice louder than it had been so far.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Does it matter?" He asked causally.

"If you care about me then yes, it matters" John said flatly.

Sherlock sighed.

"It wasn't the end of Moriarty's game, it was the beginning" The detective started dully, extricating his hold on the doctor. "Moriarty shot himself on the roof of the hospital, I was certain. He told me before he died that only he or I could stop the snipers; him via a codeword and me, via my death. I spotted the sniper in the building opposite. I knew the man was quite serious. He held you in his sights." Sherlock stopped very suddenly, inhaling sharply.

"Caring is not an advantage" He said lightly, looking away from the doctor. John moved forward slightly and placed a hand on the detective's warm side; encouraging him silently to continue.

"Trained assassins were also near Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. With Moriarty dead, unless I jumped from that building, you would all be too." Sherlock explained thickly.

"I had pre-empted something of this magnitude of course, I knew when you got the call about Mrs Hudson that it would probably be the last time I saw you." He continued, unusually slowly, his sharp eyes still trained on the far away wall.

John inhaled a shaky breath at the admission as he felt his stone heart crack a little more.

"I'm sorry, John. It was completely necessary I assure you" Sherlock said, now looking toward John for a reaction. "I tried to lie to you at the end, try to make you hate me rather than continue to _love_ me, but you knew me too well for that" He said with a weak smile.

"H-how did you do it?" John questioned with furrowed brows, ignoring the fact that Sherlock already knew how he felt.

"From the position I ensured you stay in, you could not see the rubbish truck parked on the pavement on its daily round." Sherlock said, his weak smile flashing its return for only a brief moment. "I landed in there; I then pushed out a corpse, dressed like me, to land on the pavement in my place." His eyes began to water "I had ensured that you had inhaled enough H.O.U.N.D. chemical, that when it was activated by the trauma and the bicyclist knocking you to the ground, you saw me and not the Doe. I watched from the rubbish trailer as it parked at the next stop. The only way to describe what I felt…John…was like I had died on that pavement. My h-heart...it…it…." Sherlock couldn't finish but John understood, he moved forward once more and nuzzled the detectives' face with his nose. "From there, I became a no one. A Mr Timothy Cumberbatch; Mycroft gave me a passport and the correct papers, not to mention the funds before I headed abroad, traced down the army Moriarty controlled…and I finished them." Sherlock looked down now at John's hand. He placed a light kiss to the palm before continuing "I had a nasty surprise in Cuba, I found Jim Moriarty himself. _James_ Moriarty had been the one that we knew, the one that I had been with that day. _He_ was the one that died. Identical twins with almost the same name. I spent a long time with Jim, running through my vastly expansive catalogue of torture methods I was able to trace the last of his men. Jim is now severely paralysed, but alive. Detained indefinitely in a Russian prison." Sherlock said darkly.

"So you came back" John said weakly, his brain running into overdrive at the information he was receiving.

Sherlock nodded affirmatively.

"Why?" John asked in a whisper, his eyes travelling between Sherlock's eyes and lips.

"I find myself rather…_attached_ to a certain Doctor. I wanted to come home to him. I felt that there is unfinished business here, and I see that I was right…again" Sherlock said with a smirk as he looked around the room at their nicely amalgamated furniture.

"You always are" John said with a wider smile.

"I do believe the attachment will be permanent" Sherlock warned, inching closer to the doctor.

"Well, you know my schedule is clear, unplanned future and all that" John whispered with a quirked brow.

"Yes, it is, isn't it" Sherlock mused flashing his sharp eyes over the soldier's familiar wrinkles. "If it counts, mine is too" Sherlock continued.

"It always counts" John murmured with a lick of his lips.

"I feared that I would be greeted with anger and violence coming back to you, John" Sherlock said with a smile. "I didn't think you would _want _me back".

John smiled. "You have always been the genius, Sherlock, but you will still be my idiot" he said affectionately before he kissed him once more.

This kiss grew passionate very quickly and John was suddenly very aware that his skin was still in contact with Sherlock's; it was the most exciting thing he had ever felt and led to a hungry growl escaping his throat.

Sherlock opened his eyes in alarm at the noise and moved back, breaking the kiss. John tried to follow, but Sherlock fastened his strong hands on either bicep, holding him still.

"John…I-" Sherlock started, his eyes wide, his breath catching making his chest heave.

"Sherlock, please" John pleaded, trying to move forward again against the detectives' iron grip.

"John, it's my first time" Sherlock said hastily, keeping John from him.

John stopped then and looked at Sherlock in shock.

"Really?" He asked incredulously.

"The body is for transport only, I do not indulge in _this_" Sherlock said flatly.

"But…" John started, his mouth opening and closing in horror.

"I do want to, with you." Sherlock continued "But you have to slow down…I – I have never been touched like this…I am, frightened" he finished, looking at John with an unguarded expression of vulnerability.

John immediately backed off, scarpering away from the detective, again, Sherlock held his arms tightly.

"John" He said calmly. "John, stop" he ordered, watching as the soldier immediately obeyed. "Come here" Sherlock took control of the situation quickly, clambering on top of the doctor.

John pinned his hands to his sides, frightened to touch the detective at all.

Sherlock laughed, he picked up John's wrists and wrapped them around his own waist, leaning down to kiss the older man gently, inexperienced as he may be.

John replied gently, massaging the younger man's mouth with his tongue and lips.

Sherlock gasped when their groins' came into contact for the second time that day, the sleuth marvelled at the shiver that passed through John's entire body.

"John" Sherlock breathed as he pulled away slowly, his eyes heavy lidded, his mouth open and moist.

John opened his own heavy lidded eyes and gasped at the sight above him, letting the detective see everything he needed to see before the pair resumed kissing with renewed vigour.

"Sherlock" John moaned as the detective started to kiss his neck slowly.

Sherlock was amazed by the reactions of the doctors' body under his administrations; he continued to repeat the contact of their lower bodies, rocking back and forth against John slowly.

It wasn't long before John started to show signs of muscle over-stimulation. The doctor was fast approaching his peak and Sherlock could do nothing but watch. John's eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth opened; aghast as his back arched from the mattress helplessly. Sherlock couldn't contain it, at the sight of his flatmate it seemed, he let go came heavily, crashing down to earth with a bump.

John came to when the detective had landed heavily on top of him; he let out a noise of surprise but then lifted his arms to tangle his fingers into Sherlock's hair comfortingly.

"Congratulations" John said breathily through a hearty laugh.

"On what?" Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder.

"Loosing your virginity" John whispered with a soft kiss to the younger mans' temple.

Sherlock chuckled lightly, blinking his vision clear as he rolled from the doctor onto his side.

"That was hardly my virginity, John" Sherlock mused tiredly.

"It was sex, Sherlock" John said with a smile.

"No it wasn't, there was no penetration" Sherlock said clinically.

John laughed "There will be" he promised with a smirk.

Sherlock laughed loudly as John turned over toward him.

"There wasn't a day that went by, that I didn't think about you, Sherlock" John said sadly.

"Likewise" Sherlock replied, his laugh ebbing away as he let the Doctor rest his head against his shoulder.

"How long did you know that I loved you before I knew myself?" John asked suddenly.

"A few months" Sherlock answered vaguely.

"A few months?" John repeated incredulously, his fingers halting in their soothing pattern against Sherlock's stomach.

"Since we met really" Sherlock continued as though John had not spoken. "How many Doctor's kill for their new patients?" He asked teasingly.

"I'm not just a Doctor, and you have never been my patient" John said with a smirk.

"Oh no, you are much more than a Doctor, John." Sherlock mused, burying his nose in John's hair.

"Exactly, I am now the boyfriend of an infamous super sleuth" John said with a laugh. "And I am exceedingly hungry" He continued.

"Me too" Sherlock said gently.

"Are not" John countered, making to get out of bed.

"I can guarantee I am" Sherlock repeated getting out of bed too.

"Not" John replied once more.

"Are" Sherlock said with a laugh.

John sighed. "Good to have you back, Sherlock" he said genuinely.

"It is rather nice to be back, John" Sherlock replied with a kiss to the doctor's lips.

**The End**


End file.
